


Bloody Freckled Sunshine

by c0cunt



Series: c0cunt's minifics [27]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Cutting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0cunt/pseuds/c0cunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco has a bit of an issue, and he's so very thankful that Jean is able to come and help him out.<br/>Prompts:  "I'm coming over.", "Open the door!", "Stop doing this to yourself.", and "I don't want to be alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Freckled Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HedonistInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/gifts).



> I've done my best to not make this an angst fest.

  The tops of Marco’s thighs had been itchy.  They usually were, and it drove him to distraction as his cuts healed, but at least he had enough self control to not scratch at them while in classes.  Usually, that is, but apparently today wasn’t a day that he had enough control.  Which is how he ended up having to text Jean, in the middle of his statistics class, after absentmindedly scratching, until he could see blood very faintly starting to seep through his pants.  Thankfully, Jean didn’t have a class at that time, and was able to send a text back immediately saying “I’m on my way”, which did a lot to calm Marco’s nerves.  

  Hiding in a bathroom stall wasn’t fun at all, especially as Marco miserably pressed wadded up pieces of toilet paper against his left thigh.  Marco couldn’t really help that he had a compulsion to pick at the scabs that formed (he used that reasoning as a safety blanket, a way to hide the guilt he felt for continuing to cut sometimes, even though his therapy sessions were definitely helpful in finding new ways to distract from the urge to cut).  Each time the door to the hall opened, Marco froze and held his breath, until whomever it was that had come in left.  No one seemed to have noticed him just yet, as he quietly texted Jean to also ask if he could grab his books from his statistics class, before letting himself zone out and wait for Jean.

  What felt like much too soon after his last text, there was a quick knock on the door of the stall Marco was hiding in.  He held his breath, hoping that if he was quiet that whoever was there would just go away if there was no reaction.  Which, honestly, was a really dumb hope that went against all logic.  Still, Marco held onto that hope, which was shattered when a familiar huffing laugh sounded from the other side of the door.

  “Open the door Freckles, I can’t help you out here,”  Jean said with a sigh, as Marco lunged for the door, nearly tripping over his pants still caught around his ankles.  Jean wiggled his way into the stall as Marco sat back down on the toilet, locking the door behind him before facing his so-close-but-not-actual boyfriend with a concerned look.  Both of Jean’s shoulders were weighed down by two messenger bags, the one that Marco had brought with him to class, as well as the one Jean usually carried.  

  Jean dropped Marco’s bag to the floor and gingerly kneeled on it, digging through his own bag as Marco wiggled his way out of his jeans.  It was kind of routine, unfortunately, where they didn’t even have to speak as a clean pair of jeans were exchanged for the bloodied pair.  That pair was dropped to the floor for a minute, as Jean leaned forward to inspect the damage Marco had done to himself again, a frequently used tube of antiseptic ointment and a fresh package of gauze in hand.  The wadded up bunch of toilet paper Marco had been pressing to his thigh clung to the open wounds as Jean gently lifted it.  Marco couldn’t help feeling like a small child that had disappointed their parents, with Jean carefully cleaning his leg and wrapping bandages around it.  Only after Jean had cleaned and bandaged all the slightly leaking wounds did he speak again.

  “You gotta stop doing this to yourself,” He breathed out quietly as he pulled a stain removal pen from his bag, shoving the unused gauze and ointment back inside and getting to work on Marco’s abandoned pair of pants.  Marco felt even worse than he had, his hands bunching into fists and for a second before he stood to wiggle into the fresh jeans.  Jean himself had apparently realized how his words had sounded, and attempted to backtrack.

  “Marco, I just...I know you don’t do  _ this _ on purpose, but fuck, dude...I’m not the best person to talk to ever, so I’m just gonna shut up and clean these pants.”  Jean said firmly, as he waved around the stained pants for a second before diving back into cleaning them with gusto.  Marco really didn’t have anything to do except watch as Jean’s sharp eyes pinpointed each little bloody stain and attacked it viciously, as if destroying the stain’s existence could make Marco not want or need to cut again.  Jean was quick and efficient as usual, soon enough folding up the old pants and shoving them into his messenger bag before rising.  Marco snagged his messenger bag off the floor as Jean shuffled through the door, following close behind him.  As they both washed their hands, Marco wanted to say something along the lines of ‘thank you again for helping me’, but what he did say wasn’t exactly that at all.

  “What’d you tell my professor when you got my things?”  He asked, wincing slightly when he realized just how absolutely stupid he sounded.  Jean looked up at him with a slight smile, his eyes gentle as if trying to let Marco know he knew what he had wanted to say.

  “Told the old fart that you had an emergency to attend to, she just nodded and waved me away,” Jean said with a laugh as he reached for the paper towel dispenser, which was probably literally a godsend.  Jean hated bathrooms that had air dryers only, grumbling about how many germs were hiding in the vents and how they never even  _ actually _ dried your hands.  This was one of the few bathrooms on campus with a paper towel dispenser still, and Marco couldn’t help but feel glad that he’d been able to get to this bathroom for his little accident repair.

  “You gonna head back to class, or come home with me?”  Jean asked casually, leaning against the wall near the door back into the hallway.  Marco bit his lip as he wiped his hands down and mulled it over.  His statistics professor was dry and boring, which had possibly led him to being so bored out of his mind that he’d scratched himself up.  There was only ten minutes left anyways, plus his grades were pretty high compared to the rest of the class…

  “I think I’ll go home with you...Kinda don’t want to be alone right now, y’know?”  Marco said shyly, his eyes firmly on his feet as he shuffled over to the bathroom door.  Jean made a noise that was halfway between comforting and knowing as he opened the door for them, letting Marco lead the way out of the building.  Once they were both free of the smell of anxiety and damp plaster, Jean let his hand brush against Marco’s a few times until they both eventually slipped together easily.


End file.
